The Little Boy & The Old Man
by Sunburn
Summary: ummm.......bad title, but itz the title of the poem at the very end, so wut can I do? anywayz, there are 3 parts in 1 here. Regular story, horribly written Harry Potter part, then the poem. plz r/r!!!!


A

A/N: Alrighty, this story really has nothing to do with anything, but still, I believe that these little things are important. The first part is a re-telling of some short story I read somewhere, the middle part is MINE and the very ending, the poem, was written by the wonderful and talented Shel Silverstein.

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The Little Boy and the Old Man

by: me, Sunburn

There once was an old man that lived with his son, his son's wife and his very young grandson. Since the old man was old and feeble, he was useless and wasn't important enough to sit at the dinner table. He was confined to eating out of a tiny clay bowl behind the small stove.

The older the man grew, the less strength he had and one day, during dinner, he accidentally dropped the tiny bowl and it shattered into a million pieces. The wife was extremely angry. She fumed at him and how they let him into their very own home and yet he shows his appreciation by breaking his bowl.

So the wife gave him less food put into a wooden bowl. She thought it was her greatest idea ever because the wood would be harder to break than the clay. 

Awhile later, the grandson came home once carrying little twigs and branches of wood. His mother asked him what he was doing.

"I'm collecting wood." he responded.

"Why?"

"So I am prepared for when you get old, I can give you and father a small wooden bowl and a nice place behind the stove."

And so, from then on, the old man got to sit at the table with his familiy until he died a happy man.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Outta the way!"

"Ow!" said Harry as some Ministry worker shoved his chair aside. No one seemed to think he was capable of doing anything right. Even after surviving all 4 years at Hogwarts and still somewhat saving the day, no one actually respected him the way he wanted. Sure they know him as the "Boy Who Lived", but still, he wanted more. 

"You alright, son?" Said a shrewd voice.

He looked up to meet a man with tousled gray hair and glasses. He seemed very familiar, but he just couldn't put his finger on who he was.

"Mind if I sit down?" the old man asked.

"Go on ahead."

"Thank you."

The elderly man paused to sit down across from Harry before he spoke. "Is there anything the matter?"

Harry was a bit surprised at the question. I mean, why would a complete stranger want to know if "anything was the matter". But, since there was a high chance that he would never see this kind old man again, he decided to pour his little heart out.

"Well, maybe. Do you ever get the feeling nothing's right in the world?"

"Yes, all the time, I believe."

"It just frustrates me all the time when everyone believes that I should excel at everything and win. I don't want to excel at everything and win! I just want to try it. I don't want everyone to think I'm perfect because I'm not. Most times, it's just pure luck. And sometimes, I do stupid things like accidentally spilling some pumpkin juice or something similar. That doesn't mean I'm perfect, it just means I'm like any other child. I want attention like any other child."

"I know, I used to do that too when I was attending Hogwarts. You see, my father was the Minister of Magic and everyone believed that I only got into Gryffindor because my entire family came from it. I got extremely high grades and many friends, but that didn't mean I was perfect. I did a lot of foolish things and made a lot of mistakes, but that doesn't make me regret them."

"And when I do get the people's attention, it's only because of something they believe is my doing. I didn't ask to get chosen for last year's tournament. I didn't ask to get on the Quidditch team, but I would never leave it. I didn't ask for a mortal enemy when I was born!"

"I didn't ask to retire the job that I loved doing. I didn't ask for my wife to abandon me for someone else. I didn't ask for my son and his wife to be murdered, but that's the way life goes, son. It's a harsh and cruel world, but in order to survive it, you need to understand that nothing ever goes the way you want it. Trust me, that man over there, that pushed you a while ago, he used to adore and admire me. Now he just thinks I'm another helpless old man that needs to get a life. No one ever listens to me."

"No one ever listens to me neither."

Harry smiled. The old man smiled. They shook hands and greeted each other.

"Hello, I'm Harry Potter."

"Hello Harry, I'm Henry Potter."

****

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."

Said the little old man, "I do that too."

The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."

"I do that too," laughed the little old man.

Said the little boy, "I often cry."

The old man nodded, "So do I."

"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems 

Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."

And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.

"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

Disclaimer: Like I said before, the first part is some story I read a while ago, the characters belong to J.K. Rowling exept Henry. The last poem was written by Shel Silverstein.


End file.
